In The Wake
by Sudonim
Summary: Hot Fuzz x 28 Days Later x The Stand x Resident Evil...Sandford has faced many perils, but now it faces extinction...
1. Chapter 1

There were fluorescent lights.

That's what really struck Andy first, lying on his back under a thin hospital sheet, his arms and legs strapped to a gurney. It was supposed to be "for protection," in case he was dangerous, in case he was one of _them_, in case they needed an easy target. Symptoms could appear anywhere from several seconds to several days after contact with an infected person, so despite his unbroken skin, it was still possible for him to be sick.

"Can you turn the lights out please?"

"I'm sorry, Mister Cartwright," the American nurse murmured, inspecting his blood sample visually as she finished placing a label on it and set it in a plastic tray on a metal countertop nearby. "I need the light to work."

"Well, when you leave, then?"

"We need to see you," she replied, her voice level rising as she moved further from him, apparently getting ready to leave.

She didn't say why, but he knew: _We need to see how you act. In case you're sick. In case we need to kill you._

"Mister Cartwright?" she acknowledged him, suddenly at his side. He must have dozed off, somehow… "We'll need to ask you some questions later."

"Why not now?" Andy prompted, finally looking over at her.

She was fairly attractive; slender build, long, black hair, and intensely green eyes. If not for her accent, he would have taken her for Black Irish.

He didn't want to be alone.

She sighed, sitting down on a rolling stool beside his gurney, and flipped open his file, searching for a blank piece of paper and pulling a pen out of her pants pocket. She clicked it absently, staring at the empty lines in her lap, afraid to look back at him. She'd interviewed one patient before, someone who'd come in with Cartwright, and he was in very bad shape.

She was afraid to hear his story, to see the fear in his eyes and his voice, to make him relive that pain and know it was her fault for dragging him back to that time. But it was her job.

"I need you to tell me what happened to you," she said softly, those shocking green eyes locking desperately with Andy's. Her hand rested on his for a moment, fingers squeezing tight before falling back to her lap.

"…I…I survived," Andy said weakly, barely managing a smile, as if that would explain everything.

"…I need you to start from the beginning," she said, almost apologetically.

He looked pointedly at her now, brow furrowed, mouth slightly agape. He was afraid already, she could see it, but the animosity in the other patient was nonexistent here.

Sighing heavily, he began: "I used to have a moustache, you know…" 


	2. Chapter 2

Tony Fisher was sipping coffee, leaning against the fountain in the center of the village, the one that the Hoodies would never stop plastering with graffiti no matter how many times they were jailed or otherwise punished.

Today's art was a pantsless man engaged in an illegal act with a domesticated animal.

"Oi, Tony," his radio crackled, Turner's discontent tone grating against the Lieutenant's frazzled nerves; he'd been doing paperwork until sunrise after losing a bet with Danny Butterman as to who could drink a two-liter bottle of pop faster, Cartwright or Wainwright.

Damn Cartwright's gag reflex…At least he hadn't been forced to clean up afterwards.

"What is it?" Tony grumbled into the radio, forgetting to chastise Turner for lack of professionalism; Angel was turning him into a protocol whore, to be sure.

"You seen anything…funny…today?" Turner asked, his voice totally sincere for once.

Tony glanced over his shoulder at the fountain art, then gave the plaza a quick visual sweep; Jason Briggs was scolding his illegitimate daughters, Jasper Montgomery was flirting with the significantly younger 50-something widow, Annette Kline, two Hoodies were waiting for Mr. Tyler to turn his back so they could slip into his store and most likely steal candy, and Hillary Windsor was rearranging the wilting flowers displayed in her floral shop's front window.

"No," Tony replied, exasperated.

"Well, we've some funny characters here just now," Turner continued, using the word "funny" for the second time that day, a word that usually crossed into his vocabulary only when discussing matters of state.

"How so?" Fisher asked, his interest somewhat piqued.

"Well…there's some people from the Met," Turner said, his voice hesitant suddenly, but he managed to finish, "And some bloke who claims to be a…_zombie hunter_, or some nonsense."

"S'not nonsense, mate," an Australian twang echoed in the background, making Tony jerk his ear away from his receiver in disgust.

"I take it that's him?" Tony asked, smirking at the thought of the aggravated expression he knew Turner must be sporting.

"…Yeah, that's the bastard, alright," Turner replied, sinking back into his glum, apathetic mode.

"Tell Inspector Fisher to report back to the station immediately," Tony heard Nicholas murmur to Turner, apparently assuming he couldn't hear him, as the Australian shouted something unintelligible in the background. "We're in the middle of a crisis, I'm afraid…again…"

Tony groaned, pouring the last of his coffee into the fountain before tossing the cup into a nearby trash bin.

"Oi, Tony-" Turner began.

"I heard him," Tony cut him off. "I'll be there in a tick. Keep your arms on…"


End file.
